


The Jaw Fiasco of 2001

by seanceinthealps



Series: Tales from Childhood [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Good Parent Grace Hargreeves, Good Sibling Diego Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Being an Idiot, Pre-Canon, The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy) Need a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanceinthealps/pseuds/seanceinthealps
Summary: {POV: 2}In which Number Four trips down the stairs wearing his mother's heels and breaks his jaw.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Tales from Childhood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984240
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The Jaw Fiasco of 2001

Two was busy polishing his knives. They still had around an hour before training, but it was something he liked to do in his free time. Those little, meticulous, actions grounded him and gave him something to hold onto. A lot had changed since they had been little kids, they were 12 now and that meant they had started going on proper missions. He had swelled with pride on that first mission, they were finally everything their father had wanted them to be. 

Almost. Four had also changed. Since he had first visited their father’s Friends - which he still visited regularly - he had grown less timid by the year. Sillier, more reckless and more resistant to their father’s demands - which often got the rest of them in trouble too. Four didn’t need Two’s protection anymore. In honesty, Four didn’t seem to need anybody anymore - not Two or Mom or anyone. Where he had once been fearful, he was now loud and obnoxious; where he had once been dependent on Two, he now only seemed to care about winding him up and talking his mouth off. It was a new normal. A normal Two had still not adjusted to in four years.

Two still loved him dearly, but he wondered where the change had come from. Deep down, Two might have known it was something to do with the Friends. They were probably annoying too, but Two still wanted to meet them and harboured a lingering jealousy since that very first day Four had gone to see them. When Four had gotten back in the evening on the very first time, they had all pestered him to tell them where he’d gone, what he’d done. Selfishly, he refused and decided to keep it to himself. Two asked and asked for an entire year and eventually gave up. None of the rest of them were going to get to meet the Friends, and he would just have to get used to that.

“Hey, Two!” 

Speak of the devil. Four was leaning on Two’s door-frame, a gleaming, mischievous glint in his eyes. Upon further inspection, Two noticed his brother wasn’t so much leaning on the door-frame but rather clinging to it for dear life. He was wearing tall, red heels and wobbled when standing. Mom’s heels. Two stifled a drawn-out groan of frustration - he did not have time for this.

“You think that- Woah!” Four teetered, and gripped the door-frame tighter, “You think that I look like a Karl? Fritz?” Two didn’t respond, just fixed his brother with one of his signature glares, hoping he’d get the message and leave him in peace with his knives. He did not get the message. “I feel like a Fritz would definitely wear these shoes…” Four said contemplatively. He looked up at Two with whimsical mirth, as though taunting him with expression alone.

“They’re both stupid.” Two said sullenly.

Mom had been helping them all pick out names. Real names. Two was delighted by the idea - he despised his name, it only served as a dull-bladed reminder that he would always, always be second-best. 

“You’ll regret that once I’m Fritz Hargreeves,” Four joked.

“I really won’t. It’ll still be stupid.”

“Lighten up, Bruder! It’s not like you have anything good picked out anyway.”

This much was true, Two thought begrudgingly. He had been racking his mind ever since the idea had been suggested last week, and nothing felt right to him. It had to be a name fully his own. He wanted to be his own person.

“Get out, Four.” Two said, growing more tired of his brother’s shenanigans by the second. 

Four gave an over-dramatic, resigned sigh and staggered backwards on the heels a little, but quickly hoisted himself back upright. “Okay! Okay! I’ll leave you to your shiny, throwing friends, but… but it’s Karl-Fritz to you! Hm, you like the doubling? I think that’s quite smart, I-” 

A yelp sounded from his brother, as a knife lodged right above where he was clinging to the door-frame. He almost stumbled over entirely, but thankfully he had more than one hand holding him steady. Or not thankfully. Two wouldn’t have minded seeing him fall on his butt.

Instead of seeming angry, Four just looked pensive for a moment, eyes glittering in thought. Two knew that look; knew all too well what it meant. And, sure enough…

“Moooom!”

Four scrambled - still tottering - from the room in search of their mother, ready to get Mom to tell him off. When had his brother become such a pain in his ass?

Two closed his door, where it shut with a gentle, click - hoping that Mom would understand. She usually did. Leaning with his back to the door, Two was tempted to simply slide to the floor and put his head in his hands. A large part of him wanted the younger Four back, the one who would crawl, icy-limbed and sodden-faced, into his bed where they would lie nestled together as though they were the only people in the world.

A series of clomping noises suddenly sounded from beyond his door as Four went dashing down the stairs. Followed by a deafening thud. Instinctively, Two sped from his room and peered over the bannister at the wide, grand stairs that led to his bedroom. 

Four was lying face-down on the linoleum at the foot of the staircase, immobile. The breath was knocked out of Two, and time ticked past in endless seconds as he stared at his brother at the foot of the stairs, heels now discarded from the fall. Was this his fault?

Driven by only instinct and adrenaline, Two sped down the stairs himself - narrowly missing the very same fate as his brother - and crouched at his side, heart beating like a wild creature caged. He couldn’t be… dead? Could he? Not Four. Four was too loud, too obnoxious to die - he was sure even the afterlife couldn’t hold his brother in one place for very long. It just wasn’t right.

Panic rose up through his chest and to his throat, hands hovering above his brother, afraid to touch him - afraid to learn what he feared the most. This was his fault, he should’ve entertained him for longer so wouldn’t punt himself off the stairs in running to get Mom. 

Mom. Two looked around desperately, and saw his Mom hurrying towards the scene; Two thanked just about every otherwordly force for her presence - he wasn’t sure what he would have done without her, his saving grace. 

Wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, Two stepped away and let his mother take over as he stood a few feet away, holding his breath. Mom wasn’t saying anything as she checked over his brother, which left some kind of gaping, frightened chasm of uncertainty in Two’s gut. 

“I-is he?” Two choked out from the sidelines, not quite able to finish the horrible thought that rested tauntingly at the tip of his tongue.

Mom turned to him wide-eyed, then smiled at him gently. The smile that was honeyed and warm, like one of her tight embraces.

“Oh, no, sweetie. He’s going to be just fine, don’t you worry.” She smiled that comforting smile again before turning back to his brother. Two almost wept for relief - everything was going to be okay. Mom was here and Four would be okay.

“He fell?” Mom tutted softly. Two nodded mutely. “In my shoes, no less!” she exclaimed, as her eyes flicked towards the heels only a few feet away, chuckling softly. Even Two was tempted to laugh, his Mom’s love always made him so happy.

“Honey?” she was saying softly to his brother. Two had always liked that she never called them by their numbers, instead defaulting to pet names that had become so wonderfully familiar to them all. “I’m going to need you to sit up for me, okay sweetheart?”

Groaning from his boneless position, Four protested in his typical fashion but after some more gently coaxing from Mom he sat upright. From where he stood, Two could clearly see the damage and he winced slightly. Blood bloomed from the side of his head at his hairline, and began trickling into his eyes where they mixed with silent tears. Two’s eyes, however, were fixed on the blood that came from his brother’s mouth in a steady stream. He’d found that many of the bad guys he’d killed would bleed from their mouths as they died, and it was terrible to see the same of his brother; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at the bodies the same way again.

Grace placed a soft hand on Four’s jawline, who pulled back immediately. There was a pause in which Two could only assume was Mom giving Four a very pointed look, before she was once again feeling his face. She hummed softly, before stroking the side of his face lovingly. Two was almost jealous at that point, before realising that she wasn’t just his Mom, and that Four had apparently just fallen face first down half a flight of stairs.

“Can you walk?” Mom said delicately. Four slowly pushed himself from the ground and grabbed Mom’s hand for support - most likely an emotional support more than a physical. His brother seemed a little unsteady, but Two could easily chalk that up to pain and nerves. “Good job, honey. I’m just going to check you over downstairs - okay?” 

Then Mom and Four walked hand in hand down to where Mom could further assess the damages. Left alone, Two walked over to Mom’s heels that had been left strewn across the floor. He would put them back in her room for her; Mom was always doing nice things for them, it was about time he returned the favour.

A few hours later, after they had all come back thoroughly battered from their mission, they all - even Seven - went to see Four in the infirmary. When Four hadn’t showed up for the mission, it was left to Two to explain, trembling, to his father the reason for his absence. For some reason, their father had decided the rest of them needed berating for Four’s accident. Typical. Four always got away with everything, and even got rewarded in return with (sometimes weeklong!) trips outside the mansion.

They piled into the room and hovered at the doorway, Two out in front. This was unusual since One usually demanded to be first for everything, but Two supposed that One was probably still angry at Four for landing them all with an impromptu and vicious lecture from their father. He didn’t really think it was fair to direct the anger at Four since it wasn’t him being hurtful, but Two would never have said it for the knowledge he’d probably be in the minority with that opinion. Besides, he was the only one who had seen Four’s crying, broken face after the accident - he doubted his siblings would be so callous if they had seen it for themselves.

Mom held a finger to her lips in a shushing motion as they all entered, her eyes greeting them warmly. 

“It’s best he has some peace and quiet my darlings, he was in a lot of pain.” They all nodded solemnly; they would always listen to Mom, being as she was the only real parent they had in their lives.

Awkwardly, they all stood around Four’s bedside who blinked at them dozily before wiggling his eyebrows in greeting. The entire left side of his face was now bruised and mildly swollen, but at least the blood was gone. Nobody spoke. They stood in a cluster of prepubescent limbs and hormones, unsure of what to say.

Four himself seemed somehow perfectly unphased by the uncomfortable silence. He wasn’t sure what it was, but his brother seemed lighter than he’d ever been and was gazing at them all with drowsy, contented eyes.

“How are you?” Three said, always the bravest of the lot of them.

Four looked as though he was about to respond, before Mom placed a hand on his shoulder and shook her head firmly. Slackening in disappointment, Four’s eyes fell down to the bedsheets.

“Unfortunately,” Mom said with a cheerful clarity, “Your brother broke his jaw in the accident, and shouldn’t be speaking as much as he can. Especially before I wire his jaw.”

“Wire his jaw?” Two said, thoroughly disturbed. Images of large metal poles around the whole of his brother’s head flashed through his mind and he grimaced. The sentiment seemed to be shared by the rest of siblings who all tittered nervously amongst themselves, shifting their weight between both feet uncomfortably. 

“Don’t look so scared, silly!” Mom teased, gently, “It’s just a little bit of metal in his mouth that’ll keep it steady, until it’s nice and strong again. You probably won’t even notice it.”

“Can he speak? Eat?” Ever-concerned Seven had piped up from the back of the group, her eyes widened in doe-like fear.

“Yes. But he shouldn’t move his jaw as much as possible for the next six to eight weeks.”

Two could feel the academy exchanging glances behind him, no doubt thinking the same thing. A quiet Four (for such a long time!) seemed so peaceful. Perhaps this wasn’t quite as bad as Two had feared it would be…


End file.
